Monday, November 17, 2008

Food Van, Kingsland Waste Market

For one night only the LRB team was Jazz. Never had there been such a confluence of breakfasting prowess and free-form improv since, well, Louis was snapped charming some juice out of a New York waitress.

Anyway, in stark contrast to the velveteen interior of Ronnie's, I found myself only hours later hungry, fallen out of bed and in the Kingsland waste market. In many ways a spiritual home this motley assortment of (possibly) stolen power tools, romantic comedy videos and old mens' shoes that lines the Kingsland Road every Saturday morning has all the appeal of a trashy carboot sale, with none of the uncertainty or trudging to Edmonton.

Breakfast is provided by Alan and his wife. At least I think he's called Alan and I'm guessing she's his wife. They sit in a van on the corner, and provide that staple of carboots, amateur sporting events, and any other impromptu gathering: hot, fried solace for waking up so early to get there.

I plumped for that old favourite, the bacon and egg butty, but noticing the option of bubble, added that in on top. I've always been a fan of the double carb sandwich - something the Scots do so well - and with a jazz hangover it seemed somehow apt to bulk up. I sat on the white patio furniture put out for customers, and watched the November sky turn a menacing colour. Alan laughed at me as his wife squeezed all the ingredients into a bun. "How's he meant to eat that?" he chuckled. "To be honest that's not my problem," she laughed back. Tucking in with the hub-bub of the market around me, and bits of fried potato sticking in my beard, I felt full, unwashed, and problem free too.

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